Broken
by CastleWriter16
Summary: Nothing, nothing, nothing can stop her heart from bleeding out. Not now. Inspired by anonymous ask on Gorane's tumblr. Complete.


**A/N: There will still be a double dose of _Lemniscate._ But this was niggling at the back of my brain and it needed out. I might not keep it up, so enjoy it while it's here.**

* * *

She's sitting at her desk filling out paperwork when it happens. All Esposito did was ask if she wanted coffee while he was up, but that was just what she needed to send her over the edge. Tears flood her vision instantly, and she pushes away from her desk, bolts.

She doesn't even know where she's going. She faintly hears Esposito behind her, concerned, and he should be. They all should be. How she's managed to convince them that her cracking, blistering, bleeding heart is still whole remains a mystery to her.

It's been three months. A whole three months without him. Without his touch and his smile and his eyes and his words. Three months of every breath feeling like a sharp jab to her chest, of every little mention of his name sending her into a spiral of whiskey, of forced smiles and staved off breakdowns.

The last thing she said to him was not _I love you_, as she so desperately wishes it was. No, the last thing he heard come from her mouth was _I just need some space, Castle. I can't do this right now._ Which is why the last place he willingly went was a dingy bar, why he was drunk to the point that he couldn't form a rational thought, not even his name. The fist fight ended in gunshots; she doesn't know the rest, wasn't allowed to investigate or see the case file. But she does know one thing for certain.

His death is on her.

She's crouched in the corner of the stairwell, hidden in the shadows. She doesn't know how she got there, doesn't care. The sobs come fast, hard, wracking her entire body. It's all her fault. God. It's all her fault.

They found him in an alley slouched over the edge of a dumpster, left to die like a piece of trash, just like her mother. She vividly remembers knocking out a uniformed officer, ducking under the crime scene tape, Esposito catching her around the waist, murmuring something about _not wanting to remember him like that_. She fought him off. She doesn't regret it.

But the memory of his bloodied head and back - his purple knuckles - has been haunting her every day since. Each night she wakes, jerked from her sleep, panting and gasping for breath, trying not to fall apart, to be weak. She usually downs a shot or two of whiskey, lets the hum of it through her blood lull her back into an uneventful slumber.

When her alarm goes off in the morning, she almost always finds she has an arm curled around his pillow, nose buried against the pillowcase.

It doesn't smell like him anymore.

There's a loud clatter of commotion and then Ryan and Esposito come barreling towards her. They keep saying her name like it means something, like maybe this time she'll be able to push out something past the lump in her throat.

Her name means nothing now. No one has ever said her name like Castle, and no one ever will. No one will be able to infuse it with the love and the reverence and sheer awe and adoration that Richard Castle did. She doesn't think she wants anyone to.

She just wants _him_.

Oh, God. She needs him, needs his arms around her, his hands soothing and so very clever, needs to hear his voice, see him smile, feel his lips feather against her temple just one more time.

And then maybe, _maybe_ she could let him go. Because the last time she saw him, she didn't know it would be the last time. She didn't know.

Her stomach coils, and she pushes back the bile rising in her throat. Esposito cups her elbow, and she shakes him off, curls in on herself further. Her colleague says something about Lanie and then Ryan leaves, his steps hurried and determined.

Three months.

She has no concept of time anymore. She doesn't know how long it's been when Lanie finally comes into the stairwell and crouches in front of her. She's cried so much that she doesn't have tears left. All the stupid things she's cried for before - scraped knees, ruined dates, failed exams- and she doesn't have tears left for him now.

Kate is reduced to a whimpering, shivering, needy thing that cannot possibly be considered human.

Her fault. This is her fault. If she had swallowed her pride and talked to him, he wouldn't have gone to that bar. He wouldn't have downed so many shots. And never would have provoked the gang in that bar. He would still be here.

He would be here now, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, making her feel like the world was hers for the taking.

His heart would still be beating.

Nothing, nothing, nothing can stop her heart from bleeding out. Not now. It shattered the moment he took his last breath.

Kate forces herself up from the ground and everyone takes a step back, just as expected, gives her space. Slowly, she reaches for her holster, slides her fingers around her gun.

Three months, three months. Three months.

His death is on her.

She killed him.

There's nothing left for her here.


End file.
